


blood in, blood out

by ghosthunter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Bondage, Cock Warming, Dubious Consent, Gangbang, M/M, Mea Maxima Culpa, Orgy, Spanking, Subdrop, author is working through some stuff, zdeno chara in a crown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19467334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: i have to put on a blindfold i’m being hazed at 28 years old send help





	blood in, blood out

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes something just sticks in your head and you just. anyway, that happened.
> 
> thanks to maj for beta.

Going to a welcome dinner seems like a normal enough affair.

They’ve made it through their first game in Boston. They’ve beaten the Sharks, so they’ve won their first game with the team. There’s no game the next day, so even though they have practice, Chara rounds up several of the vets, along with Charlie and Marcus, and organizes a carpool to head to dinner.

Marcus somehow ends up in the back seat of Brad’s SUV - behind Brad, no less - and spends the whole ride to the restaurant furiously texting Nicke about whether or not he should just casually be kicking the seat every chance he gets like an angsty toddler.

 _he apologized_ , Nicke texts him, because Nicke is not the one who had a concussion in this situation and is at liberty to be a little more level-headed about it.

 _okay,_ Marcus texts back. Then, _but also they made him, he never would have if i hadn’t gotten traded here._

 _i swear to god, i love you mackan but i am sick of hearing about this,_ Nicke texts.

 _if he poisons my dinner i’m going to make you regret that,_ Marcus responds.

_if he poisons your dinner, you’ll be dead._

_i will haunt you._

“You know,” Bergeron says casually from the front seat as they’re pulling into the restaurant. “Z has a no phones at the table during team dinners policy.”

Marcus jams his knee into the back of the goddamned seat as he gets out, just to see how it feels.

Dinner isn’t quite as awkward as Charlie expected, slightly on the less awkward side than the drinks he shared with Marcus in the hotel bar the night before just because they're staying in the same hotel and had both arrived that evening. They’d both been tired and nervous about going in to meet the team for the first time the next morning, then immediately playing in a game.

They’d sat next to each other and stared at a TV playing a game that Charlie can’t even remember, now, and Charlie had had a beer and they hadn’t made much more than small talk. Marcus had drank vodka and soda and his English had been a lot more careful in front of just Charlie than it is when he’s at dinner and they’re with Chara. Self-conscious, Charlie thinks, and that’s a fair thing.

Charlie doesn’t have to be self conscious about his English, but he has time left on his contract and isn’t just a rental. He has to be more self-conscious about his hockey than Marcus does.

He’s got a buzz and he could doze off listening to the low hum of Joakim and Marcus sitting across from him, chatting in Swedish. It’s late. Charlie’s about to look at his watch and consider calling an Uber when he realizes that Chara is paying and the rest of the guys who have been on the team are standing up.

“All right boys,” Patrice says, standing up.

“Back in the car,” Brad says.

“Huh?” Charlie asks.

“We have other places to go,” Brad says. Charlie looks up in time to catch Marcus making a face, and stretches his legs across under the table to nudge Marcus’s feet.

Marcus looks at Charlie and makes a different face before getting up from the table. Charlie grins at him and they all follow Chara out of the restaurant like the ducklings they obviously are.

_they won’t let me go back to the goddamned hotel_

_oh my god will you let me sleep_

_i am in brad’s car again_

_are you complaining about free dinner?_

_i am complaining about BRAD_

“Hey, can you put this on?” Bergeron asks from the front seat. He’s holding something. Cloth? Marcus isn’t sure what it is until he reaches out and takes it and realizes it’s a blindfold.

“Uh,” Marcus says. “Why?”

“Because we have a surprise,” Bergeron tells him. “We always treat our new teammates as soon as we can. You know, make sure you feel like part of the team.”

 _i have to put on a blindfold i’m being hazed at 28 years old send help,_ Marcus texts to Nicke and then, God help him, he puts the blindfold on.

Charlie knows they’re in a locker room by the smell.

He doesn’t know what locker room it is - he assumes it’s the one at the practice rink, that would make the most sense, would be the easiest for them to get into in the middle of the night compared to the one at the arena. He knows that they guide him in, one of Tuukka’s hands on one shoulder and one of Torey’s hands on the other.

They put him on his knees, and their hands come away.

“Don’t move,” Tuukka tells him, and Charlie immediately chafes against the order. He doesn’t like to take orders unless he’s playing hockey. He immediately wants to pull the blindfold off and see what’s happening.

But it’s a new team, a new dynamic. He’s been there a little over 24 hours.

So he does what he’s told.

He tries to listen and figure out what’s happening. He hears voices, murmurs, nothing he can really make out. Snatches of conversation in Czech, someone’s burst of laughter. Someone yelling that he thinks is maybe Jake.

“Don’t move,” someone says, no accent, and Charlie thinks it’s Brad, and he doesn’t understand why the command is coming again when Charlie hasn’t moved, until - 

“You’re not the boss of me,” he hears Marcus say, sharp. “I don’t think you’re the boss of anyone.”

There’s another burst of laughter. “He’s got you there, Marchy,” someone says brightly. Patrice, Charlie is pretty sure.

“Everyone hush,” Zdeno says. He’s in charge, like he always is, and the room goes dead silent. All Charlie can hear then is rustling, feet shuffling against carpet. “We like to make sure our new teammates feel welcome.”

Charlie thinks that blindfolding them is not the best way to make them feel welcome, but he doesn’t say anything. Zdeno has told them to be quiet, so Charlie will stay quiet.

“Charlie,” Zdeno says then. “How were you welcomed to the team in Minnesota?”

“I don’t remember,” Charlie says, honest. “I was twenty. They took us out to dinner, I guess?”

“Did they give you a sub? Assign you someone? Let you pick?” Zdeno asks, making it more clear what he’s asking Charlie then. Charlie feels his mouth go dry.

“Not right away,” Charlie manages to say. He’d been twenty. He’d still been feeling things out, learning what he liked and deciding what he wanted. “I did, eventually. Before the season was over. I needed to.”

“Tonight you’re a sub,” Zdeno says, and Charlie feels him stepping close. Charlie can feel the heat from his body. “You’re mine. Everyone who steps in this room is mine, and I take care of you. And we’re going to show you that you’re a part of this.”

Someone pulls the blindfold off him and Charlie realizes that Zdeno is knelt next to him, close but not touching Charlie. They’re in the locker room at Warrior, and Charlie’s knelt on one side of the logo on the floor, where they put him. Marcus is knelt opposite him, still wearing his blindfold, his carefully gelled hair knocked askew and falling in his face.

The rest of the team is gathered, sitting in their stalls or on the floor in front of others - Charlie notices that Chuckie is sitting on the floor in front of Jake, and Jake’s fingers are stroking through his hair as they watch. Charlie imagines they’ve been through exactly this, whatever welcome they received when they joined the team.

“I don’t know,” Charlie says. He’s not a sub, he doesn’t want to be the one bowing down and letting the team have their way with him.

“We’ll take good care of you,” Zdeno tells him, and Charlie believes that. “We’ll stop if it’s too much for you, or if you don’t like it.”

“Okay,” Charlie says with a sigh.

“Marcus,” Zdeno says, and Charlie sees Marcus actually startle when Zdeno says his name. “How were you welcomed to the Capitals?”

Marcus doesn’t say anything for a second, but he’s not so far away that Charlie can’t see him clenching his jaw, and the blindfold doesn’t hide enough of his face that Charlie can’t see how much he’s blushing.

“Marcus,” Zdeno says, his voice going sharp. He doesn’t like to be disobeyed.

“Nicklas,” Marcus finally says, his voice coming out too-quiet and accent thick.

“You’re a sub?” Patrice asks, sounding a little surprised.

“He’s a fucking mouthy one,” Brad says. He’s got his arms crossed, leaned back in his stall. Probably mad that Patrice laughed when Marcus was hateful to him earlier, and Charlie is pretty sure that Brad and Patrice are a thing.

“I was nineteen,” Marcus says. “They always treated me well and gave me what I needed.” He’s almost defiant when he says it then, and Charlie thinks maybe that’s fair, and that Marcus didn’t have such a great time in New Jersey.

“And Burakovsky was your sub when you left,” Zdeno says. Of course Zdeno knows.

“We were both Nicke’s. And Andre was mine,” Marcus clarifies.

“You never had anyone in Newark,” John pipes up.

“No,” Marcus says. “It wasn’t a group thing there. Everyone kept to themselves. I kept to Nicke and Andre.”

Charlie thinks it’s maybe a little weird for both of them to have to lay out their sexual history like this, but maybe it’s not that much of a surprise. Zdeno knows what they like - of course he does - but he wants to make them say it out loud. So everyone knows. So no one oversteps their boundaries.

Patrice reaches out and takes the blindfold off of Marcus.

“Are you okay?” Patrice asks him.

“Yes,” Marcus answers.

“Are you okay with this?” Patrice asks him.

“With everyone but him,” Marcus says, nodding his head towards Brad.

“Fucks sake,” Brad says, sighing and crossing his arms. “I apologized.”

“Yeah, and that doesn’t give me those thirty-seven games back, does it,” Marcus says.

“Boys,” Zdeno says with a sigh, like Marcus and Brad are his misbehaving children.

“I will hit him,” Marcus says to Patrice, dead serious.

“What if I give you a paddle,” Patrice says, his voice quiet, soothing. “He’s mine, but I’ll let you have your revenge tonight. We want you to be happy here.” He’s stroking his hand over Marcus’s hair, leaning in closer. He’s still talking, but Charlie can’t hear what he’s saying anymore.

“Come here,” Chara says, and gets to his feet, helping Charlie up to stand beside him. Charlie glances back to see Patrice’s hands on Marcus’s face, Marcus leaned in close. He glances at Brad, too, who looks furious.

He’s also totally, obviously hard for it.

Charlie feels the back of his neck go hot.

“I’m going to tie you in, eventually,” Zdeno says to him. “But for now, strip out of your clothes.”

Charlie doesn’t particularly care for being tied down, but Zdeno did say they’d stop if Charlie asked. He thinks at least he can give it a good-faith try, show the team he wants to try and participate, to do what he’s asked even if he doesn’t like to be commanded. He wants to be good. For the team.

“Chucky,” Zdeno says. “You’ll be his first.”

Chucky practically bounces to his feet. He’s the youngest on the team, barely more than a Rookie. He’s pretty clearly attached to Jake, but Jake lets him go with no protest. He’s wearing his locker room tee and a pair of shorts, but he strips out of the shirt quickly.

“Should I be naked?” he asks, stopping as he goes to push his shorts off.

“Charlie?” Zdeno asks.

“I think I would be more comfortable if at least someone else was,” Charlie says after a moment. Chucky smiles and strips out of the rest of his clothes, and then it’s him and Chucky, standing there, nude.

“Make yourself comfortable here,” Zdeno says. “I think there will be a little show before we strap you in, but Chucky will keep you happy until then.”

Charlie sits, and Chucky kneels on the floor next to him, settling between his knees, nuzzling his nose along the inside of Charlie’s thigh, before finally slipping the head of Charlie’s cock into his mouth. He takes what he can in his mouth, and then stops, resting his head against Charlie’s thigh.

“He’ll stay there until you’re ready,” Jake says from behind him, suddenly close to him and basically vibrating with energy. “Until you want him to suck your dick. Just pet his hair a little bit. He likes it”

“Oh,” Charlie says and drops his hand into Chucky’s hair. Chucky just keeps his lips closed around Charlie’s cock, his body leaned against Charlie’s, his eyes closed. He’s soft and sweet, and this is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to Charlie in a locker room.

Well, probably.

“We want you to be happy here,” Bergy says to him, his voice going softer, lower.

He strokes his hand over Marcus’s hair and while Marcus would like to keep being pissed off, it’s so easy to let himself start to slip into Bergy’s calm lull. This must be how he manages Brad, when he’s flying off the rails.

“This can’t stand between the two of you,” Bergy says, his voice just for Marcus, leaned in close. “We can’t be a team this way. I’ve punished him for it, the league has punished him for it. You’ll have punished him for it. After this, you’re teammates. You can even be friends, I hope.”

Marcus nods, eyes closed. He wants Bergy to keep talking, to stroke his hair.

“You can’t go away on me right now,” Bergy says to him, and Marcus opens his eyes to look at Bergy. “Do you like a paddle? Brad likes a paddle.”

“I like to use my hands,” Marcus says. “With Andre. I -”

“It’s okay,” Bergy says. “You’re gonna have my paddle tonight.”

He kisses Marcus on the forehead and then helps him to his feet. Brad is sitting in his stall still, arms crossed, looking furious. And at first, Marcus doesn’t know if it’s because he’s pissed that Bergy is offering him to Marcus like this, without asking.

Then he realizes that Brad is fully hard, and not even bothering to hide that he is. Marcus thinks, then, that maybe he’s mad the idea of Marcus punishing him turns him on.

Marcus can’t say he’s not into it, especially once Bergy puts the paddle in his hand.

“Feel it,” Bergy tells him. “Get used to it. Swing it a couple of times.” He turns to Brad. “Strip down to your underwear.”

Brad mutters something under his breath, but he does as he’s told. Marcus glances around - everyone’s watching, including Charlie, who is sitting on a bench, McAvoy’s head between his thighs. Bergy starts unbuttoning Marcus’s shirt.

“You should be comfortable,” he says, keeping his same calm voice. “You should definitely change out of your suit. Would you normally do this in your underwear?”

Marcus shakes his head. He would, but being with Andre and having his entire team watching him do this are different things. Then again, Charlie’s naked on the other side of the room, with his cock in McAvoy’s mouth.

Marcus strips down to his underwear, and tests the weight of the paddle in his hand. Bergy has moved to Brad, has stood him up against his stall, placing his hands. Marcus doesn’t even try to listen to what Bergy is telling Brad, just holds the paddle in his hand, feeling the weight of it against his palm and fingers.

“Thirty-seven swats,” Bergy tells him. “To his ass and the tops of his thighs. I know you know better than to hit his back and actually hurt him.”

“I know,” Marcus says. “Are you okay with color signals if you need me to stop?”

“I’m not going to need to stop,” Brad says.

“Brad,” Bergy says, a tone of warning in his voice. “Answer the question, or I’m going to add more swats when he’s done.”

Brad exhales irritatedly. “Yes, they’re fine.”

“Count,” Marcus says. And then he doesn’t do anything, just stands there, holding the paddle in his hand. He’d hit Andre quick, without giving him time to think about it. He wants Brad to have the anticipation. To overthink it.

He waits until Brad starts to fidget about it. He’s a good enough sub that he knows better than to turn and look for Marcus, knows better than to say anything with Bergy standing right there, watching him, having already threatened him to add more swats.

Once Brad starts to fidget, though, he swings. He puts more of his body into it than he could if he were just using his hands. More than he would if it were someone else, his own sub. It’s malicious and he doesn’t _like_ himself for it. He’ll tell Nicke later and Nicke will punish him for it. Hell, Bergy might punish him for it tonight, after the way Brad yelps instead of counting off the first swat.

He gives the first five swats in quick succession, all as hard as he can. Brad manages to count him off, but after the fifth one, Bergy says, “Marcus,” and he stops. He’s breathing hard, and he closes his eyes. Not like this. He can’t be like this.

“Sorry,” he finally says, looking up at Bergy. “Brad. I’m sorry.”

“I’m okay,” Brad says, even though he’s breathing hard, even though Marcus can tell he’s saying it through gritted teeth.

“Do you need a second?” Marcus asks.

Brad nods. Marcus feels like shit, but Bergy steps in to whisper to Brad. Marcus wishes absently that someone would be whispering to him, telling him he didn’t fuck all of this up. Nicke’s been telling him to let all of it go, but he hasn’t been able to. He lost so much time to it, felt so shitty for so long, and now he’s here, standing in the same room as Brad, on the same team as Brad.

Bergy steps back, and Brad says, “Green,” and it seems like it’s okay. The next swat is normal, what he’d give to Andre, if he were paddling Andre, or any other sub. He checks every five swats, and Brad green lights him after every one, counting the numbers until they reach 37. Thirty five regular season games and two playoff games. Everything Marcus lost when Brad elbowed him in the face.

“I’ll take care of him now,” Bergy tells him, and swoops in to pull Brad’s fingers away from the shelving of the stall, to wrap his arms around Brad and whisper into his ear. Marcus’s legs are shaking and it’s Z who takes the paddle out of his hand.

“Come with me,” he says, and takes Marcus by the hand.

Marcus goes, led like a small child around the outskirts of the logo on the carpet to the bench that Charlie’s seated on. Charlie’s knees are spread wide and his head is thrown back as McAvoy enthusiastically sucks his cock, Charlie’s hands tangled in his hair.

He goes immediately from half-hard from paddling Brad to fully hard, and Z is putting him on his knees next to the bench, bending him over it, and strapping his wrists in.

“Fuck,” he sighs, and rests his cheek against the bench. Z laughs and pets his hair.

“You’ll be a good boy, now,” he says.

Chuckie gives great head.

He’s enthusiastic, but not so much it hurts. It’s wet enough without being sloppy, although Charlie’s never minded a little bit of a sloppy blowjob. If a little too much spit drips down his balls, then whatever. This is not that.

Sitting there watching Marcus paddle Brad with his cock in someone’s mouth - it didn’t take long before he _wanted_ Chuckie to suck him off.

“Chuckie,” he’d said.

And Chuckie had opened his eyes and looked up at Charlie through his eyelashes and Charlie had decided right then he’s going to fuck Chuckie if Jake will let him. But he doesn’t think that tonight’s going to be the night, after Zdeno’s told him he’s Zdeno’s sub tonight.

“Suck me off,” Charlie had said.

He’s half-aware of Zdeno strapping Marcus’s wrists down next to him as Chuckie’s head is bobbing up and down between his thighs. He’s more aware of Chuckie’s finger teasing against him as he slides Charlie’s cock into his throat. He wants to pretend he’s composed in front of this new team, but he’s absolutely not, and Chuckie is swallowing as Charlie comes.

Chuckie has to gently pry Charlie’s fingers out of his hair after that. “Not so hard,” he says, but he’s smiling, and it’s Jake that pulls Chuckie to his feet and kisses him. Jake is tasting Charlie’s come in Chuckie’s mouth. Fuck.

“I'm going to strap your hands down now,” Zdeno tells him. “So I want you to get on your knees. Do you want something to kneel on?”

“Maybe later,” Charlie says, sliding off the bench and onto his knees on the floor. Zdeno’s hands are gentle as he latches Charlie’s wrists in. Charlie immediately tests it out of instinct, but the straps are sturdy, and the bench is held in place by the weight of Marcus’s body on the other side.

Marcus shifts to look at Charlie when the bench shakes, not lifting his head from the seat of the bench. Charlie’s hands are near Marcus’s, and he stretches his fingers out to flick them against Marcus’s.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asks him. He doesn’t know if anyone’s asked. He doesn’t know how things are for Marcus, how he handles the aftermath of a scene.

“Mmhmm,” Marcus says. Charlie realizes then that Tuukka is knelt on the floor behind Marcus, and suddenly he understands the reason Marcus is not at all focused on anything.

“Pasta,” Zdeno is saying behind him. “Coyle has a nice ass, don’t you think?”

Charlie can’t see, but David must come closer to them from the way his voice moves as he speaks. Whatever he says to Chara, he says in Czech, and Chara laughs.

“You should eat it,” Chara says, and Charlie knows that Chara says it in English for Charlie’s benefit. This time it’s David who laughs, and his hands push at Charlie’s hips until he’s further up on the bench, his ass in the air.

David is good at a lot of things. He’s good at hockey. He’s good at making people laugh. He’s good with his tongue when he uses his hands to push Charlie’s legs apart, to part his cheeks and press his face between to lick across Charlie’s hole.

Charlie yelps, arching against the bench.

It’s not that Marcus hasn’t participated in, like, orgies before. Or group sex, or whatever it was called when several doms and several subs were all in the same place and happened to be having sex at the same time. It’s just that Marcus can’t remember having ever had sex with more than two people in a night - he’s a switch who was in a committed relationship with both a dom and a sub. Two people in a night was common.

A fourth teammate comes across his back.

Rask had come inside him, but that was three cocks ago. Now it’s mixed with Krejci’s, dripping down the inside of his thighs. Moore’s is smeared across his ass, even though he and Moore were never interested in each other when they were in New Jersey at the same time. It’s Acciari who’s just come across his back.

Torey’s next, his hands sliding over Marcus’s hips, over his ribcage.

“Let me come,” Marcus whimpers to him. He’s not proud of it. He’s not particularly proud of a lot of things he’s done this evening.

He’s loose and ready when Torey takes him, but at least this time someone’s touching his cock. He gets his fingers around the straps holding his wrists to brace himself, rolling his hips back to meet Torey.

It’s the first time he’s come all night, and it takes him a lot less time to get off than it does Torey. It’s easy to let go of the leather that restrains his wrists, to let his body sink against the bench, to just let everyone have him. To become part of this, to give himself over to it.

Patrice is the last one to take him, after the others have had their way. He’s got a warm, wet cloth, and he cleans the bulk of everyone else’s come off of Marcus’s skin. He’s slow and careful, and Marcus is exhausted and overstimulated. He’s come three times, and he’s not sure that he even wants to come again, but he doesn’t know if he’s going to be given that choice.

“Marcus,” Z says, and he lifts his head up. “You’re going to get me ready for Charlie. Can you do that?”

Marcus nods his head, and Chara’s cock bobs into view in front of his face. Marcus opens his mouth and lets the head slip past and in, swallows once and lets as much of Z’s cock as he can slide to the back of his throat, tries to swallow it down. He takes as much as he can, until he feels like he can’t go any further, and then he forces down just a bit more.

Patrice fucks him while he works at Z’s cock. He’s sloppy and open for Patrice, and messy with saliva as he sucks Z’s cock.

“That’s good,” Z says to him, stepping back over the bench, his cock hard and wet with Marcus’s saliva. Marcus’s jaw aches. It’s a lot of cock to try and take.

He lays his head back down against the bench and lets Patrice fuck him.

Charlie’s never had a dozen people suck his cock and eat his ass in one night before. It’s a lot. He feels a little bit raw, a little bit exhausted. He wants people to stop touching him. He wants to take a shower and curl up in bed and sleep for twelve hours.

They have practice tomorrow - later today now, it must be - and he has no idea how he’s going to wear his jock when he doesn’t want anything to touch his cock. He’s only come twice - the first time with Chuckie what seems like hours ago, and when Zdeno told Torey to let him. That also feels like it was hours ago. Everyone else has just brought him to the edge without letting him go over it. It hasn’t been a fun game, especially not when he’s watched everyone else come on, or in, Marcus.

Having Zdeno fuck him is a lot. Zdeno’s cock is a lot. Charlie’s not surprised by it, but he didn’t think he was ever going to get fucked by it, either. The captain is the only one with the privilege of fucking him. Everyone else has serviced Charlie, has sucked his cock, has eaten his ass. Charlie’s no one’s sub, no one’s to fuck.

Except Zdeno.

It’s a lot, almost more than Charlie thinks he can take, and he presses his forehead down against the bench and breathes hard as Zdeno pushes in, fills him up too much, with too much dick. He just has to concentrate on breathing, on the way his cock is hard and aching, how he’ll get to come once more when this is all over, how he’ll get to shower and go to sleep in his cold hotel room sheets.

He feels something brush across his hands and realizes it’s Marcus’s fingers, their arms tied stretched above their bent bodies until their hands almost meet. If Charlie stretches his own fingers, he can link them together, the two of them caught up in this when they just thought they were going to dinner with their new teammates.

Zdeno shifts his hips just right, and even with the overwhelming _too much_ feeling, the angle is perfect and Charlie can’t help the moan that escape his lips. He lets Zdeno fuck him until he’s satisfied, until he’s coming. A few quick strokes of his hand get Charlie off, Charlie’s come splattering against the carpet.

Brad is the one who undoes the restraints on their wrists, and Zdeno is the one who pulls Charlie upright, rubbing Charlie’s wrists slowly, making sure nothing is chafed or hurt from being strapped in.

“There’s sweats for you to wear back to the hotel,” Zdeno tells him. “Brad volunteered to drop you off, so you don’t have to get an Uber.”

“I appreciate that,” Charlie manages to say.

He changes into the sweatpants and t-shirt, tugging a sweatshirt over the top. It’s better than having to put on his game day suit after the last couple of hours.

The drive to the hotel is quiet. It’s late, for one, and all of them are tired. Not even Brad has anything to say, even though Charlie knows he could normally keep up a steady stream of chatter through anything. Apparently not a team-wide gangbang. Charlie’s not actually sure that Marcus doesn’t fall asleep in the back seat on the ride.

Everything is fine until Marcus starts crying in the elevator, both hands covered by his sweatshirt and his hood pulled up over his head, and Charlie realizes that no one thought about what was going to happen once they sent the two of them back to the hotel, or how either of them would react to this after.

Marcus is dropping hard, and Charlie doesn’t know him, isn’t his dom, and doesn’t know what’s best for him.

“Come on,” Charlie says to him, his voice soft, and tugs Marcus down the hallway into his hotel room.

Charlie turns on the lamp next to the bed, the light in the bathroom, and Marcus feels like he can’t even sit down on the fucking bed.

“What can I do?” Charlie asks him as he just stands there, and he doesn’t know a real answer, so he just shrugs. “What do you need?”

A shower, Marcus thinks, his brain cycling through what he physically needs to do. A shower, a bottle of water, some sleep. Maybe something to keep his muscles from aching when he wakes up in the morning. Everything he knows, but all at once, until all he's able to do is stand there with his hands hiding his face because it's embarrassing for Charlie to see him crying.

“Are you okay if I help you shower?” Charlie asks. “We can do it together, I need one too.”

It’s easy to let his body be manipulated, to let Charlie walk him through the things that he knows he needs to do but doesn’t have the mental or physical energy to force himself through doing. He lets Charlie do the thinking, lets Charlie be the one to strip him down, lets Charlie be the one to clean him with gentle hands.

Marcus closes his eyes and pretends that Charlie is Nicke. That it’s Nicke cleaning him up, taking care of him, giving him what he needs. Eventually, he manages to stop crying, to get the overflow of emotion in check. Or, at least, he gets to the point where he's too exhausted to even cry anymore.

By the time they’re out of the shower, he feels a little bit better. Charlie’s got Ibuprofen in his bag, and they both toss it back as they chug bottles of water.

“You can stay here, if you want,” Charlie says.

“Thank you,” Marcus says.

They climb into bed together, and he lets Charlie fold him up, tucks himself in underneath Charlie’s chin, makes himself smaller than he is because that’s what he needs, right at that moment, to be. Charlie strokes his hair, which is good, and feels right.

“Thank you,” Marcus tells him again. “And I’m sorry.”

“It’s …. been a night,” Charlie says, and when Marcus laughs at that it sounds watery.

“I promise I don’t normally react this way to - to subbing,” he says. He's dropped before, but never this hard.

“I don’t think that was normal for either of us,” Charlie says. His voice is gentle. It’s not as soothing as Bergy’s was, but it’s still nice.

“Still,” Marcus tells him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Charlie says. “You got what you needed.”

“Thank you,” Marcus says again, awkward. Uncomfortable.

“Hush,” Charlie tells him. “Go to sleep. We have to go to practice in the morning.”

Marcus sighs, presses his nose against Charlie’s collarbone, and closes his eyes.

Charlie’s dozing in bed when his phone buzzes. It’s late afternoon, the internet is blowing up with pictures and video of the Blues at their parade, and Charlie hasn’t felt like getting out of bed or leaving the house. He ordered both breakfast and lunch.

 _Chara’s. 7pm,_ is the message in the group chat. Charlie sighs, mostly because he doesn’t want to get out of bed. He reads the message out loud, because he knows Marcus isn’t asleep. All he gets for his trouble is a groan and Marcus jamming his head underneath a pillow.

Charlie looks at him - well, what he can see that isn’t covered by sheets or the pillow - and thinks about his sheer frustration during that last game, as they were going to lose and they knew it, his screaming from the bench. The broken-hearted tears when they came so close, how nothing worked no matter what he and Dan and Marcus did.

Marcus had come home with Charlie after that, and Charlie had spent the day between the game and breakdown day taking Marcus apart and putting him back together. Now he’s hiding under the pillows in Charlie’s bed because he doesn’t want to go out with their teammates, which, honestly, Charlie thinks is absolutely fair.

They also have to go.

“Go get in the shower,” Charlie tells him, reaching out a hand and gently pushing at his ribs. “Not a suggestion.”

“That’s unfair,” Marcus says, his voice muffled by the pillows.

“You’re aware that life is extremely unfair,” Charlie says.

Marcus takes the pillow off his head, smacks Charlie with it, and rolls out of bed. Charlie flings the pillow after him as he disappears into the bathroom.

“Clean up your neckbeard!” Charlie calls after him.

Marcus’s middle finger is the last part of him to enter the bathroom.

Charlie drives them to Z’s and pulls in to park with five minutes to spare. Neither of them make any effort to get out of the car. Charlie doesn’t even turn it off, leaving the air conditioning running and the radio playing low.

“We have to go in,” Charlie says.

“Do you think we’re gonna,” Marcus says to him, and waves a hand through the air. “Talk about it? The game? Some more?”

“No,” Charlie says. “Because no matter what Z says, I’m leaving if that’s what this is for.”

Marcus gets out of the car and follows Charlie up the front walk and into Z’s house. Most of the other guys are there, except for a few stragglers, and the guys who are more injured - Acciari’s not there, neither is Moore or Miller. The only reason Z is there is because it’s his place and he’s the captain. Marcus thinks that he probably won’t participate in whatever ends up happening.

It’s only fifteen or minutes before they’re on their way back out the door, headed out to dinner. Marcus climbs into Brad’s back seat, this time with Charlie next to him instead of Nordy.

“This better not end in me tied to a bench getting fucked by the whole team again,” Marcus says as he’s buckling himself in. He catches the split second of a startled look on Brad’s face in the rearview mirror just before he laughs.

“Okay, well, that’s not happening,” Charlie says.

“It happens if Z says it does,” Bergy says. He’s looking at something in his phone.

“Half the team is injured, first of all,” Charlie says. “So it would be five people tops. But as his dom, I’m saying no right now before we get that far.”

“Aw,” Marcus says, and reaches over, shoving at Charlie.

“I don’t know if Z would go for that,” Bergy says.

“Look,” Charlie says. “Z didn’t have to manhandle a crying grown man through a shower as he dropped, so I think I’m the one who gets the say here.”

“He could spank me again though,” Brad says. Marcus laughs and leans forward to high five him.

“Maybe later,” Bergy says.

Dinner is normal. It’s more normal and less awkward than the first dinner they all had together. Marcus has approximately one drink too many and tips himself past pleasantly buzzed into giggling drunk, leaning heavy against Brad, who is hammered and sitting next to him.

“Are we going back to Z’s now?” Marcus asks, leaning forward and getting stuck in the seatbelt because Charlie’s had the forethought to clip him in. Pretty rude. “Or what?”

“We should go to a bar,” Brad says. He jabs Marcus in the ribs with two fingers. “Jojo,” he says. “Tell them.”

“Ow?” Marcus says, and smacks Brad’s hand. “Fuck off.”

“Okay,” Bergy says, turning around and looking at them. “First of all, I can hear you, Brad. Second of all, we’re not going to a bar.”

“And if the two of you don’t stop fighting we’re going to turn this car around and go straight home,” Charlie says.

Marcus kicks the back of his seat and he drops his sun visor to glare at Marcus in the mirror while Brad cackles.

Forty minutes after they get back to Z’s, Charlie starts to wonder how he ended up here. “Here” happens to be the hot tub in Z’s back yard. He’s got a beer in one hand and the other hand resting casually on his lap. He’s trying to decide if he’s going to jerk off watching Grizz and Cliffy trying to climb down each other’s throats across from him.

Nobody’s gonna fuck in a hot tub, but Grizz and Cliffy are sliding against each other pretty enthusiastically. Grizz probably deserves it.

Everywhere Charlie can see, people are hooking up. So not a gang bang, but an orgy, which he thinks he likes better. He doesn’t have to participate if he doesn’t want to. He wants to. He just hasn’t decided what he wants yet. Right now, he’s content to relax with a beer, watch the lights flicker off naked bodies.

He likes the face Grizz makes as he comes, his head tipping back and his eyes closed, Cliffy’s face pressed against Grizz’s neck as he’s breathing hard. Z’s gonna have to drain both the pool and the hot tub and bleach every surface of his property when all is said and done.

Charlie gets out of the hot tub and finishes the last of his beer. There’s a cooler on the deck, and Chuckie and Brusky have Pasta pinned between them on one of the loungers, a tangle of hands and mouths. Another beer and Charlie thinks maybe he’s going to start looking for something himself.

Someone has thrown glow sticks in the pool. Some of them are proper pool glow sticks, that sink and light up underneath, but others are glow bracelets and just float on top, a riot of brightly colored chaos that lights up the bare skin of the people in the water. Someone has stuck several together into a brightly colored crown, leaving it slightly askew on Z’s head where he’s sitting in the shallow water. 

Tuukka is next to him with several others gathered around him. Charlie can’t tell who they are in the dimness, but from the way Tuukka’s head is tipped back and the way someone’s hunched over him, Charlie supposes Tuukka’s having a pretty good time.

He wades past them into the pool, swimming out to the deep part where Marchy is sitting astride a pool float with Bergy hanging off the end of it. Charlie grabs the back end of it to float on, and Marchy yelps.

“Don’t drown the vodka!” he yells at no one in particular, because he’s drunk. He’s wearing goggles and the glow sticks glint green and yellow off his chain. Charlie is dying to push him into the pool, but that _would_ be unfair to the vodka.

“Give me the vodka,” Marcus’s voice says from the other side, and he paddles lazily up from somewhere behind Bergy, supported by pool noodles. Charlie grins at him. Marchy hands him the vodka. “Thank you.”

Marcus chugs from the bottle and Charlie dumps Marchy in the pool.

Charlie swims away from where Marchy is sputtering and Bergy is laughing, still hanging onto the end of the now-twisted pool float, over to where Marcus is floating with the bottle of vodka in his hand. Charlie treads water and takes it from him, taking his own swig.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“It’s Czech,” Marcus tells him.

“It’s… I think I’m dying,” Charlie says.

“Weak,” Marcus tells him, and takes the bottle back. He takes another drink, then puts the bottle down on the edge of the pool. “The first time I ever got fucked up in DC was on Russian vodka. This is easy. Don’t ever let Russians convince you to do shots.”

Charlie laughs, then leans forward and presses his mouth to Marcus’s. It’s hard to kiss someone and tread water, but the pool noodles aren’t enough to keep both his and Marcus’s weight above water.

Marcus isn’t going to be in Boston next season. Charlie has liked playing hockey with him and enjoyed his company. Enjoyed having him as a sub. Enjoyed having him around.

Charlie pushes Marcus up against the side of the pool and holds himself up with his hands. Marcus brings his arms up to loop around Charlie’s shoulders, and then Charlie’s holding both of them up.

“Are you going to tell me what to do tonight?” Marcus asks him.

“Only if you want me to,” Charlie says. Marcus makes a noncommittal noise and Charlie kisses him again.

“Gross, give the vodka back,” Marchy says, interrupting them to basically crawl over them to grab the bottle of vodka. Marcus wraps his legs around Charlie and uses his arms to try and shove Brad’s head under the water.

“Go _away_ ,” he says, and Marchy gives him the finger as he swims back toward Bergy with his prize.

Charlie’s not complaining about a hard dick pressed against his stomach now that Marcus's legs are wrapped around him like this.

“Do you want to go somewhere less annoying?” Charlie asks Marcus.

“Can’t fuck in a pool,” Marcus tells him.

Marcus follows Charlie out of the pool through the shallow end. He’s not _that_ drunk - it’s going to take more than a few drinks from a bottle of vodka to get him wasted, but he’s definitely not sober. Not so drunk that he can’t appreciate the glowstick crown someone has woven for Z as he sits in the shallow part of the pool with his broken fucking jaw, overseeing this orgy he’s started like some kind of weird Dionysus.

Z might as well be a god of some kind, Marcus thinks. He doesn’t think he could play through a broken jaw.

There’s a bin that was full of lube and condoms at the beginning of the night that’s half empty now sitting on one of the tables near the cooler, and Charlie grabs a couple of the packets as they walk past. Marcus lets Charlie lead him into the house, even though they’re dripping, searching around until they find somewhere quiet and empty, one of the guest rooms on the second floor.

Marcus flops down on his back on the bed, and Charlie flops mostly on top of him, making him grunt as the air squishes out. Charlie’s gentle like this, a little buzzed and not looking for a scene, soft in the way whatever their relationship is has clicked into place. He brushes wet curls off of Marcus’s neck and then leaves his hand there, stroking his thumb along Marcus’s jaw.

“Do you want me to give you orders,” Charlie asks him simply, his voice quiet. Marcus lifts a hand and rubs it across Charlie’s buzzed off hair, enjoying the feel underneath his fingertips.

“Not really,” Marcus says.

“Do you want me to fuck you,” Charlie asks, almost a whisper, like someone’s going to hear them and shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” Marcus says.

Charlie shifts most of his weight on top of Marcus, and his still-damp skin is cool and a little clammy where it comes to rest against Marcus’s. It’s easy for Marcus to part his thighs and let Charlie slot between, lighter now than he was months ago when he pinned Marcus to a bed for the first time.

Marcus is drunk and Charlie is slow moving, more interested in leaving marks along Marcus’s neck and collarbone than anything else. It’s hot, in the laziest way possible, to lie on a random bed somewhere in Z’s house and make out, at least until Charlie gets bored with it and reaches a hand down between them, between Marcus’s thighs to start to tease.

That’s one thing that Charlie likes, the wind up of teasing his sub, of making him want to squirm but not letting him, of getting him hot and bothered but demanding that he hold still, not touching himself or rubbing off against the sheets.

“Don’t tease,” Marcus says, because that’s not what he wants. Charlie’s been asking him what he wants all night.

Charlie buries a laugh against Marcus’s neck, and reaches for one of the packets he’s thrown on the bed. “Were you ever this needy with Nicke?” Charlie asks him, squeezing out the packet onto his fingers.

“You’re way more of a tease,” Marcus says, and brings his hand to rest on the back of Charlie’s head as Charlie pushes in two fingers with no preamble, making Marcus gasp sharply.

“You like it a little rough,” Charlie says “But you don’t want anyone to know.”

Marcus wishes vaguely that Charlie had more hair, that he had something to tangle his fingers in and fucking pull. Charlie doesn’t, and he’s working his fingers so hard and fast that Marcus wants to buck against him, but there’s too much of Charlie’s weight on him. He settles for finding Charlie’s mouth, instead, sucking Charlie’s lower lip between his teeth.

Charlie’s three fingers in and working him hard when the door flies open. Someone is laughing and someone else is hanging onto him and Charlie and Marcus break apart and out of instinct Marcus looks for something to preserve his modesty like he wasn’t absolutely naked in the pool earlier and - 

“Sorry,” Grizz says, wide eyed, and Cliffy is burying his face in Grizz’s shoulder and fucking giggling. “Oh my God, sorry.”

They don’t make a move to leave.

“This isn’t a show,” Marcus says, his arm thrown across his face. He wonders how red his face is, and if there’s any blood left for his dick after the embarrassment. There’s literally an orgy and somehow he’s still embarrassed at being walked in on. And Grizz has fucked him, besides.

“But could it be?” Grizz asks.

“No,” Charlie says. “Close the door on your way out.”

Cliffy’s giggles echo even as the door shuts behind them.

Charlie reaches out and pulls Marcus’s arm off of his face.

“You okay?” he asks. Marcus’s face is red and he wrinkles up his nose at Charlie. Charlie swoops down and kisses him on it. “You still want me to fuck you, or are you over that.”

“Yes,” Marcus tells him. “But my dick doesn’t agree right now.”

Charlie flops onto his side next to Marcus and props his head up on his elbow. “I can go get them, and spank both of them if you like,” he says, and Marcus laughs.

“No, give me a minute,” he says, and Charlie does, flicking absently at one of Marcus’s nipples, which just makes Marcus reach out and push his hand away, further down. Charlie takes it as a hint and wraps his fingers around Marcus’s cock instead, looking to re-capture the previous interest.

With Charlie’s hand on his cock, it’s easy enough to get back to where they were before they were interrupted, for Charlie to move his hand down, to finish off what he started until Marcus finally says, “Just fuck me already.”

Charlie laughs at him, because he can remember the first night in the hotel bar, how quiet Marcus was, and his careful, nervous English. Since then, Charlie’s seen him screaming and crying, swearing in at least seven different languages, ecstatic and heartbroken and so many things in between. This Marcus, his Marcus, is different.

He gives shit back to Brad, he tells Charlie what he wants when he wants it. Sometimes Charlie threatens to stuff things in his mouth when he does it, and sometimes he follows through on those threats. He moans Charlie’s name, breathless and bitten off when he comes, and that’s probably one of Charlie’s favorite things.

He’s easy when Charlie replaces his fingers with his cock, relaxed, even though he digs his fingers into the muscle of Charlie’s lower back, blunt fingernails digging in.

“Come on,” Charlie says, and uses his weight to shift them to the side, rolling Marcus on top of him. Marcus laughs breathlessly and uses one hand to balance himself above Charlie and the other to push his wet curls off his forehead.

Charlie reaches a hand up to run his thumb across the head of Marcus’s cock while Marcus rides Charlie’s. He fucks himself breathless, until he’s coming, on his knees sitting on Charlie’s hips, his head tilted back. Charlie shifts his hips.

“Come on,” Charlie says. “Just a little bit more. Come on.”

Marcus’s legs are shaking, but he moves, just enough, just the right way, lets Charlie rock him against on Charlie’s cock until Charlie comes underneath him with a sigh.

Charlie pushes at Marcus until he stretches out on the bed next to Charlie, rolling over onto his stomach and resting his head on his arms. Charlie rolls onto his side and bumps his nose against Marcus’s cheek, ignoring the fact that he has come smeared all over his stomach. Z’s gonna have to wash everything else in his house, anyway.

“I’m gonna miss this when you’re gone,” Charlie tells him, reaching out and tucking loose curls behind Marcus’s ear.

“Yeah, well, whenever I’m in town, you can buy me a drink and we can have a little fun,” Marcus says. Charlie rests a hand on his back.

“Deal,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry. on twitter @notedgoon.


End file.
